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Friday, 6 January 2012

New Year or Same Old?

Having read my totally amazing friend's new Blog post I decided that I would click on the browser tab I opened (a week ago) to write a new post myself. Given the lack of noise/spontaneous combustion/demands here right now, and my hugely successful attempt to ignore the ironing pile/dishwasher/any other sensible use of my time there really isn't an excuse to procrastinate any longer.

It's not that I arrogantly assume anyone else wants to read my ramblings, but the recent "writer's block" has been incredibly frustrating for me. I find writing such a cathartic process, and somehow sharing my trivialities with cyberspace enables me to move forward - whether in fact my posts are actually read or not. So I'm not totally sure why I have found it so painfully challenging to collect any sensible thoughts to record in recent months, but I suspect sleep deprivation may well be the main culprit. New mothers often speak of this mythical ten per cent of brain power pregnancy is supposed to "mothball", and share their yearnings for a return to full capacity. I think after 14 years there is little hope of that for me but without a doubt the recent months of repetitive night wakings (medication change and small daughter to blame) have rendered the remaining functional percentage semi-comatose much of the time. Or at least much of the time I have available to write! But the New Year is always a significant way point, and worthy of additional effort, and it is one of my Resolutions to find more time to write.

So how do you imagine New Year? I don't mean what does it mean for you, but how do you visualise time and its partitioning? Being a teacher, and with four school aged children the New Year for us is actually not 1st January, but early September. I do imagine each school year to be an exciting "box" to be opened, experienced and enjoyed. With new challenges and adventures, troubles and joy. But January? I've never thought of the "real" New Year quite like that. For me, time is an inexorable mobius strip, which we move along at an inevitable pace. Like a tape measure each New Year is spaced along its surface, barely significant other than yet another marker along our personal timeline. I don't cross the threshold of the New Year with excitement or trepidation, but rather a feeling of inevitability, resignation and sadness. The sadness is purely because time persists in moving ahead at its own pace, those we love growing with us and cherished past times drifting further away. There is still the hope and excitement, but bizarrely I experience this to a far greater extent in September. January is such a bleak month, and this travelling forwards seems dulled in comparison. There is absolutely nothing new for me on 1st January from the day before, nothing to hide the fact that we are still fighting the same battles, with imperceptibly unchanged routines. In contrast I find the new school year such an invigorating time, I love the Autumn with its weather and festivals and feel a huge sense of achievement as my children take the next step at school, in clubs and sports.

This year was much the same, I actually remembered to write the correct year on the first cheque of 2012 but otherwise not much has changed. We have a few challenges to face over the next twelve months but nevertheless I feel excited and enthusiastic for once. I'm enjoying the present and determined not to look too far ahead - there is no Master Plan and I'm taking each week, each day as it comes. Mrs Organised is going to take a step back and enjoy the journey just a little bit more in 2012 and avoid looking too far ahead - or too far behind.

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About Me

Kate is a 41 year old mum of four. At least, that is what her cv says. Actually, Kate is a virtual representation of multiple algorithms which function collectively better in print. At least that’s what it feels like much of the time.

Remembering you exist from the neck down can be difficult whilst entirely preoccupied with many thought processes at any one time, but then that is what children are for - a wonderful reminder to constantly ground you in a reality all too easy to become detached from.

Having Blogged prolifically for several years, transitioning into writing books was merely a small, terrifying leap into the unknown. Initially a self-indulgent attempt to reclaim a maternally suppressed creative spark, the written word took on a life of its own. Writing is self affirmation at its best, the finest comfort food in print.